


Professional Courtesy

by 391780 (goblinparty)



Series: Cold Wind [1]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2169183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinparty/pseuds/391780
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The building across the street seemed abandoned, but Numbers knew better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Professional Courtesy

The building across the street seemed abandoned, but Numbers knew better. He’d been sitting in his car watching people come in and out every few hours, and realized he had found what he was looking for. Three weeks ago a CPA had embezzled a significant amount of cash from Fargo and tried to hide, but it didn’t take long for Numbers to find his hiding spot in the bad end of town. He watched as the woman he knew was the accountants wife came and went, dropping off food and supplies for her hiding spouse. Numbers decided to wait a few minutes before going inside and putting a screwdriver in the husbands skull. He poured some more incredibly strong coffee from the thermos and continued to wait, occasionally glancing up the street to make sure everything was actually as abandoned as it appeared.

A car rolled up the street, one Numbers had never seen before. He watched as a tall, copper headed man in a fringe jacket climbed out and headed for the building. Numbers wrote down the license number in a notebook and watched as the man entered the building. Numbers was midway through a sip of coffee when two shots rang out, and the man in the fringe jacket sauntered out of the abandoned garage, surprisingly casually for what had obviously happened. He didn’t even seem to notice the little bit of blood on his cheek.

Numbers watched as the man climbed into the car and drove off, mind reeling as to what to do next. He quickly jumped out of his vehicle, pistol in hand, and went to look into the window. The accountant was lying on the cement floor, his head blown apart by what, by Numbers best guess, was probably a 9mm handgun. Numbers swore under his breath, and took a photo with his camera phone of the body, texting the image to a contact labeled ‘AUSSIE PRICK’ with only the words ‘Not me. Finding out who.’ attached to it.

Numbers drove around in the general direction he saw the tall man leave. He finally saw the car parked in front of a busted up motel room. Numbers parked down the street and sauntered up to the motel. It’s a very small place, maybe a handful of rooms. Numbers had stayed in places like this before, and could already imagine the lumpy beds and ugly wallpaper. He reached into his coat and pulled out his taser. In the past he would have never carried one, having written them off as ‘feminine’ simply because of their lack of lethality, but having worked for Fargo for as long as he had, he learned to appreciate any weapon that could incapacitate a target while still leaving them healthy enough to interrogate. His plan was to steal a key from the front desk, break in, zap whoever he found first, and if there was anyone else there he’d point his gun at them. Easy peasy.

Later that night after a generous bribe to the apathetic teenager behind the desk, Numbers approached the motel room he suspected the tall man of being in. He had waited in his car, in the dark, staring at the illuminated window just waiting for it to turn off. After it finally turned off, he waited another two hours, just to be sure. When he finally felt confident that the rooms occupant was asleep, he stalked up to the door and slowly, silently, inserted the key and opened the door. Numbers had barely taken a full step into the room when the tall man stepped out from behind the door and knocked Numbers out with a swift blow to the head.

Numbers woke later, his head throbbing. He tried to move, but quickly found his arms and legs had been zip tied to a tacky motel chair. He felt the presence of tape on his mouth, and his mind started racing.  _How did that guy know I was coming? Why aren’t I dead yet? Why am I alive?_ He heard footsteps approaching from his left, and turned to see the tall man in the fringe jacket approaching him with what looked to be the notebook from Numbers’ car. Numbers inhaled sharply. If he had the notebook it meant he was in the car, and if he’d been in the car he could have all of Numbers’ weapons. Numbers silently chastised himself for getting caught, figuring whatever happened next was his own damn fault for being so careless.

The tall man pulled up another chair and sat down, then opened the notebook to a blank page, writing furiously in it. He held up the notepad in front of Numbers’ nose.

_What do you want?_

Numbers raised his eyebrows. Why write it down? Why ask a man a question when you’ve got tape over his mouth? None of it made sense. It made even less sense when the other man zip tied his right arm again, just inside the elbow, and cut his wrist free, handing him a pen and placing the pad of paper below his hand. Numbers contemplated a moment before writing.

_Answers._

The taller man seemed amused by this, but said nothing. He quickly scribbled below Numbers’ response.

_So ask._

Numbers mind raced. Everything about this man raised questions. Nothing about him was typical, there was nothing about him that didn’t make Numbers curious. After a short pause, Numbers put pen to paper.

_How did you know I was coming?_

The man hissed out a silent laugh, wrote his reply, and returned the notebook under Numbers’ wrist.

_Saw your car outside the garage. Saw it again in the motel parking lot. Not hard to anticipate._

_You didn’t think I was just gonna call the cops?_

_Nobody in our line of work calls cops._ The man arched an eyebrow and cracked a malicious looking smile.

_You know me or something?_

The larger man nodded.  _You beat me to a guy a few months ago. You didn’t see me, but I saw you. Clever trick, dropping him in the lake like that._

_Sorry about that. So you were hired to take out this last guy? By who?_

_Doesn’t matter. I freelance anyways. Are you done with questions?_

_Why write this out, why not just take the tape off my mouth?_

The tall man looked visibly uncomfortable for a moment.  _You might scream. People in the next room might do something about that._

The tall man reached into his coat and produced a box cutter, leaning forwards and pressing the blade threateningly into Numbers’ leg.

_Who do you work for?_

_I’m from Fargo._

The larger mans eyes widened, and he sat up a little straighter. He pulled the box cutter away from his captive and retracted the blade. Numbers watched him re-read the last line a few times before picking up the pen again.

_Hear that’s a decent gig._

_Yeah, when mute lunatics aren’t tying me to motel chairs, it’s a pretty sweet job._ The younger man chuckled.

 _So what do you want from me?_ Numbers scrawled.

_Cooperation, until I can figure out what to do with you. I don’t kill without getting paid for it, but I might have to make an exception._

The man sat silently for a moment, seemingly to measure how much he valued his captive’s silence and whether or not he was willing to risk angering Fargo over it. He then stood up, removed a pillow from it’s case, and slid the pillowcase over Numbers’ head. Numbers heard his taser’s high pitched whine, and then was shocked unconscious.

When he woke again, he was duct taped to a tree. The man in the fringed coat was distracted, trying to unroll the tape to get it around Numbers’ feet. Numbers barely had time to process it all when his cell phone rang loudly in his pocket. He threw a look at the larger man, who didn’t seem to notice at all. Not even a glance. Numbers stared at the man, who continued taping limbs together undisturbed until he finally noticed Numbers looking at him with an odd expression. The younger man smiled and shrugged his shoulders and threw his hands up in an expression that clearly read ‘ _What?’._ Suddenly, something clicked for Numbers. He had seen that exact gesture a million times from the deaf guy who lived next door when he was a kid. It made sense that this guy was probably deaf too. Number couldn’t help but feel a little impressed that someone who couldn’t hear in this line of work had managed to live so long. Lord knows Numbers would have been dead ages ago if he couldn’t hear footsteps and gunshots.

When the man in the jacket was done, he put a disposable cell phone and a piece of paper in Numbers’ hands before giving a small wave and walking back to his car. Numbers’ wrists were taped together but he could still use his hands to open the note.

_Can’t let you follow me, but can’t piss off Fargo, either. Left your car and weapons at the motel as a professional courtesy. See you around._

The man in the jacket was driving off just as Numbers had managed to fish his phone out of his pocket to call Fargo. He wondered what exactly he would tell his boss about this job.  _Probably best to lie,_ he thought to himself.

____________________________________________________

Almost a year later, Numbers found himself in the Fargo offices, preparing to meet his new partner. Since the incident that left him taped to a tree in the middle of nowhere, management had finally decided the buddy system was the way to go. Numbers looked forward to having backup, but was less enthused about the idea of hearing some guy wax on and on about whatever conquest he’d made that weekend while they were trapped on a stakeout or something. Numbers rubbed his temples. He just wanted this over with so he could go home and get ready for whatever the next job would be. He thought about that day in the motel room, when he could have easily been killed. He sighed, and resigned himself to having a partner. It was for the best anyways. Safer. Probably.

Soon the Aussie walked in with a tall man looming behind him. A familiar face wearing a fringed jacket grinned back at Numbers while the Aussie said “Mr. Numbers, meet Mr. Wrench. You two leave for Bismark in the morning.”


End file.
